MISS SISSY GLARED AT her brand-new cell phone as if it were an instrument of the devil. “No!”
They were sitting in the dim light of Miss Sissy’s kitchen. The paint was peeling in chunks from the dilapidated, dusty, and cluttered table they were sitting at and Beatrice was very much afraid that she might fall through the fragile caning of the chair bottom. She sat as delicately as she could, holding the flip phone in front of her as Miss Sissy eyed it warily.
“Miss Sissy, remember we talked about this? At the hospital? The doctor was worried about you having an accident, whether it was here at home or away in the car.” Beatrice gave a small, involuntary shudder at the word car. “This way you can feel free to come and go as you like without having to worry about not having someone to help
